


at the highest that i'll ever be

by johndery



Category: NCT (Band), WayV (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Dom/sub Undertones, Frottage, M/M, Thigh Riding and Lap Dances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:33:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25600639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johndery/pseuds/johndery
Summary: there’s a vague trap melody playing in the background from the bluetooth speaker the youngest set up before the party started – he is also the owner of the playlist, so dejun can vaguely recognize travis scott’s voice singing about something dirty, and dejun’s english isn’t that good to decipherexactlywhat he’s saying but he can guess the topic of the song. sex.and now yangyang will dance for him to it.
Relationships: Liu Yang Yang/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun
Comments: 7
Kudos: 168





	at the highest that i'll ever be

**Author's Note:**

> xiaoyang is my new obsession so here have this garbage i wrote in 2 hours and proofread half-asleep

dejun tries to recall how exactly he ended up in this situation.

it’s hard to concentrate with a lapful of yangyang trying to get his unabridged attention by grinding down on him to the beat of the music, but he still makes an attempt to place the current events unfolding into a logical timeline. his vision became blurred at some point, there’d been a lot of pushing around involved, and eventually, he found himself backed into a couch by yangyang’s determined cheshire grin while the rest of their friends shouted _go! go! go!_

ah, he thinks that might be it – it’s a dare, he starts to remember, a stupid drunken challenge that came from none other than sicheng, ever the troublemaker when he’s inebriated, a sly smirk still stretching his lips when dejun, slowly starting to panic, glances in his direction for help. he’s planned this – knows exactly what he’s doing and what kind of demons he’s rousing from sleep with his aloof, almost too innocent to be an accident comment of “see, it’s funny. dejun’s never actually gotten a lap dance before.”

the comment, of course, came after a very heated argument between ten and yangyang over who can rotate their hips in someone’s lap better, which in itself wasn’t surprising – the duo argued and bickered over stupid things all the time and those arguments only grew more ridiculous the more alcohol they had in their systems. dejun was listening with only half an ear and obediently nursing his fourth drink of the night, an admittedly terrible decision since he’s usually tasked with helping kun clean up the dorm after the night is over and everyone’s finally passed out. tonight feels different, is an excuse dejun will use when kun berates him for it the following morning, kicking him awake with a plastic cup to his forehead. and he isn’t even _wrong_.

it does feel different. it has felt different since the moment the silly debate was brought up and guanheng, being himself, suggested they should do a competition to determine who is the better provider of lap dances – ten was so sure he’d win, he was practically climbing on top of kun before the younger could even finish his sentence. yukhei made an off-hand remark about how it’s not fair since he dances for kun all the time, be it privately or in public, which led to a lot of teasing laughter that dejun happily joined into, and even more flustered kun trying to calm them down while ten nuzzled his side like a pleased cat. then guanheng came up with the idea that ten should dance for yukhei – and yukhei was never the type of person to deny a pretty boy sitting in his lap – which made yangyang pout because no one volunteered to let _him_ dance on their thighs, until sicheng opened his enormous mouth.

and now dejun is here.

with yangyang, his fingers digging into dejun’s bleached scalp, tugging on the coarse hair at his nape, his legs caging dejun’s thighs in between them.

there’s a vague trap melody playing in the background from the bluetooth speaker the youngest set up before the party started – he is also the owner of the playlist, so dejun can vaguely recognize travis scott’s voice singing about something dirty, and dejun’s english isn’t that good to decipher _exactly_ what he’s saying but he can guess the topic of the song. sex.

and now yangyang will dance for him to it.

which makes sicheng’s suggestion all the worse because – he _knows_ that dejun likes yangyang, _like that_ , that he’s equally attracted to him physically as he is psychologically, and now he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place, or specifically, yangyang and the leather couch.

behind them, ten had already begun his dance for yukhei, if the hoots and hollers are any indication, but dejun can’t bring himself to tear his gaze away from yangyang’s face. the younger seems to be in pretty much the same position, which gives him a sense of relief, but he hasn’t even started moving yet and dejun already feels like he’s doomed.

without his permission, his brain starts to imagine this as an everyday occurrence – a blessing to have yangyang like this any time he wants, the perfect position to crane his neck up and kiss him whenever he feels like it, intertwine their fingers and hold their hands between their chests, right over his rapid heartbeat, so yangyang can feel the effect he has on him. dejun is a sap like that.

he thinks about what it’d be like to just lean up and kiss yangyang right now, without any restriction of being just friends who do questionably homoerotic things together from time to time. they cuddle a lot, yangyang hangs off his arm all the time, he’s _used to_ the physical touch, but now his skin is aflame in such a new way. yangyang’s made him feel hot under the collar before but it was never _like this_. not with yangyang present, not without dejun staring up at the ceiling with his hands down his underwear, shirt stained with dry come and his lungs heavy with guilt.

he wonders if it’s ridiculous to have thoughts like this when he’s drunk, yangyang’s drunk, everyone present in the room is drunk and trying to have fun they’ll forget about tomorrow. chances are yangyang won’t even know what he’s done when he wakes up with a pounding headache and bile rising up his throat. he wonders if he’s going to make a fool of himself and let his feelings be known when he’s spent all this time (two years of pining does terrible things to a hopeless romantic) putting on a carefully planned façade of indifference and mild annoyance with the younger’s antics. he wonders if he’s reading into this whole situation too much.

and then – then yangyang begins to move.

he’s right on the beat – when it turns sultrier and dirtier, his hips gyrate and rub against dejun’s. he used to be bony, but now he’s filled out a little since he started going to the gym with sicheng and taking dance classes with ten and learning how to make sustainable, healthy meals with kun. really, yangyang’s grown up a lot from the annoying youngest member of their friend group that chatted dejun’s ear off without his say in the matter, pissing him off on purpose just because dejun looks nice scowling in his very vocal opinion. dejun’s taken notice of these changes but now that he’s presented with them all at once, he realizes just how overwhelming his feelings for yangyang are, just how deep they’re flowing inside his veins, setting dejun’s skin on fire with each move of yangyang’s hips.

he’s not subtle in his movements at all – he’s slow and languid and pretty, his back arched as he lowers down and drags his fingers across dejun’s vertebrae under the collar of his loose tank. maybe this is a dance routine he’s been practicing with ten – dejun would turn to look if he’s mimicking their friend, but he can’t break eye contact with yangyang in an intense moment like this. it’s like yangyang knows perfectly well what kind of effect he has on dejun as well – his smile never wavers, only turns provocative, like he’s challenging dejun to fight him back on this like he’s known to do with everything else. but that same intensity keeps dejun pinned to the couch, legs spread a little wider to give yangyang more space to work with as he sways his hips in time with the music, opening up for him so easily. letting yangyang into the deepest crevices of his mind, his walls crumbling down.

“you can touch, gege,” yangyang mumbles, his mandarin a little slurred in dejun’s ear and oh shit, he’s whispering the words over dejun’s earlobe and when did _that_ happen? when did yangyang lean in so close dejun can feel his chapstick leave a sticky trail over the outer shell of his ear? “touch me.”

it’s not a command, neither is it a plea; it’s just yangyang asking dejun if he’s willing to play along and then moving back to grind his crotch into dejun’s and gasp when he feels dejun’s growing hard under him. how could he not, with the sinful picture yangyang paints for him? how could he not want to run his fingers through yangyang’s hair and tilt his head back to leave open mouthed kisses over his throat while yangyang grinds into him, sets a pace that he likes for them both?

instead, dejun chooses a safer option – puts his palms over yangyang’s waist on each side, circling his thumbs into the skin that’s exposed by his crop top. it’s another tiny detail that showcases yangyang’s change through the years they’ve known each other – when they met, dejun never saw yangyang outside of his football jerseys and fan merch and ridiculously colored shorts. but now he wears skinny jeans and crop tops and tucks his shirt into his pants to show off the dip of his waist that dejun’s currently caressing, the same waist that’s been driving him crazy ever since he first got to see a sliver of it.

“like this?” he finds himself asking, surprised at how rough his voice sounds, like he’d just woken up. mandarin also feels weird on his tongue – when he’s like this it’s a lot easier to slip into cantonese, his brain’s default language, to write mental poems about the lines of yangyang’s body and the sounds he makes when he’s being touched. he doesn’t miss the way yangyang shivers at the question, nor the little lip bite when he nods, his face still alarmingly close, his hips still moving to the music, the rest of the room blurring into nothingness until it’s just the two of them.

“yeah,” he says, more like an afterthought, “jun,” he closes his eyes, but the spell isn’t broken like dejun feared it would if he stopped staring into his impossibly deep, dilated pupils. what he gets instead is an image of yangyang so wrecked that he can’t hold himself upright anymore without dejun’s help, his thighs trembling as he lowers himself down and presses their bodies together, and that’s when dejun can feel yangyang’s hard too. his thumbs twitch and slide upwards on instinct, close to brushing over yangyang’s pecs and it makes the younger shiver.

he isn’t sure how much time passes of the two of them just like this – falling apart and picking each other up at the same time, yangyang regaining composure to tease dejun’s chub in his pants and then letting go of it again so dejun can lead him when he feels too weak. his head is spinning, what with the alcohol nestling in his bloodstream, what with the way yangyang is slowly becoming unhinged on top of him, but eventually they both come crashing down, yangyang literally toppling over to bury his head in the crook of dejun’s neck and dejun’s vision clearing up abruptly when someone coughs and brings them back to reality.

“do y’all want to be left alone?” ten asks bluntly, causing a fit of giggles from their friends, even kun whose cheeks are suspiciously flushed, leading dejun to believe he maybe won’t be bothered to clean in the morning after all, “because we were gonna hit the club now, anyways.”

dejun wants to say: _no_ , because if they’re left alone there is a number of things he will be tempted to do that they both might end up regretting. he wants to say _no_ , because he isn’t sure where this is going and what it _means_ for the two of them.

he says nothing, and yangyang is the one who speaks, “get the hell out of here before i kick you all out myself.”

with a wave of protesting and accusatory _we don’t want to be here anyway?_ from guangheng specifically, they make their leave through the cramped room and the beaten up door, locking it behind them, and it’s only then that dejun’s gut fills with heavy realization that for yangyang it was never about the stupid competition or winning it in the first place.

“did you plan this?” he finds himself asking, again in that weird, rough tone that has yangyang quietly squirming in his lap, his position comfortably pressing their cocks together, “you wanted this to happen?”

“how else was i supposed to confess?” yangyang scoffs, but it’s without his usual bratiness when it comes to defying dejun. he’s subdued, almost, his breathing just as heavy as dejun’s where he rests his body on top of his, fingers trailing all over dejun’s torso like he doesn’t know what to do with them, “with words, like a normal person? fat chance.”

_confess_. dejun doesn’t have time to unpack the meaning behind those words, though he desperately wishes to poke and prod for more – it’s not what yangyang needs right now. what he needs is release, for his tensed muscles to turn into liquid under dejun’s careful touch and care, like when dejun pets his hair after a long, stressful day and lets him curl up in his lap and fall asleep there. he needs to let go of the fear of rejection that’s simmering under his anxious limbs, the little twitches in his body giving it away despite the confidence he’s trying to emit. he needs to be reassured that he’s not making a fool of himself by getting them both hard and then attempting to take dejun’s shirt off so he can touch more of his bare skin. so dejun decides to give him just that.

he reaches up, up, under yangyang’s crop and pushes it upwards to reveal a plane of tanned, soft chest, the muscles underneath his skin slightly defined from training. he has a pretty navel, leading up to a shapely abdomen, that _damned_ waist dip, and a flat, alluring chest, sighing deeply at being exposed so suddenly, but to dejun it’s the prettiest sight he’s ever seen in his lifetime. he’s flushed there, dejun’s fingers trace over the reddened skin carefully, caressing it with his knuckles just to hear the tiny hitch of breath at the gentle, yet maddening touch. he doesn’t use the words _in love_ often, but he’s pretty sure that’s what he feels in this moment, admiring yangyang’s beauty, and reveling in the knowledge he’s the only one who gets to see him like this. or so he hopes.

“what do you want,” he asks, _demands_ , and yangyang’s leg twitches on his side, “how do you want this?”

“strip,” the answer is immediate, “strip us both and i want to ride your thigh until i come.”

dejun can handle that. he thinks he can, at least, and he obeys yangyang’s request readily, the younger’s arms lifting upwards to help him push the flimsy material of his top all the way off. yangyang opens his mouth to complain for dejun to do the same, but he’s too quick to let him whine – his tank is off the next second, leaving his hair ruffled and sticking out in different directions, but yangyang either doesn’t care to make fun of him for it or finds it sexy, because his eyes glaze over with a deeper type of lust at the sight of dejun shirtless and dejun isn’t given a warning before his lips press into his neck, tongue slowly lapping at the salty skin there.

at this point, he forgets that he’s drunk off shitty alcohol and not yangyang in his entirety. his touch feels intoxicating, and it’s so easy to get lost in it, push away reason and let _need_ fill him up instead. yangyang’s hips move again – vaguely, he registers the song has changed to a female singer, a romantic type of r’n’b and lyrics about love – this time, he straddles only dejun’s right leg and sits on the meat of his thigh, hands frantically reaching down to unbutton his jeans and push them halfway down, just enough to give him space to slot his dick against dejun’s pants.

he doesn’t dare look down. he doesn’t dare to confirm his suspicions that yangyang’s already wet and leaking precome on his thigh while licking over his adam’s apple, tracing the outline of it with his tongue. mindlessly, dejun’s palms reach out to rub over yangyang’s nipples – it makes him shake and twitch almost painfully, a low whine tearing from his throat and startingly, dejun stores away the knowledge yangyang is sensitive there for future use. he twitches above him, whimpers when dejun repeats the motion with the pads of his thumbs instead, tugging on his nipples carefully, exploring the newly discovered area, tickling his sides with the rest of his fingers and giving him ground to press into when things get too overwhelming.

“gege,” yangyang’s whimper is pitiful, such a stark contrast to how he usually is, so assertive around dejun, teasing him mercilessly, pushing him to his limits and yet – _and yet_. when he peeks up at dejun under his messed-up bangs with his lips still glossy from the remnants of chapstick mixed with his own saliva, dejun realizes that there’s still something missing.

they haven’t kissed.

yangyang seems to be asking for it without uttering the words – maybe he’s too scared to say them out loud, which is so uncharacteristic for him when he has no trouble narrating his train of thought at any given time – maybe he’s scared of dejun’s reaction if he makes the request. he has to remind himself that this is new for yangyang, too. that he may have not even expected things to go this far, that he spent the whole night and day before this hyping himself up to do all of this in the first place.

the thought of yangyang nervous because of _him_ makes his heart grow and swell with such unexplainable fondness, that he leans up to press their lips together without saying another word.

it’s not necessary to vocalize his thoughts. he wants to tell yangyang how beautiful he is like this, how beautiful he is _all the time_ , but especially when he looks this ruined, flushed and panting because of dejun. he wants to tell him that he wishes to unravel him like this whenever he likes then take care of him afterwards, cuddle him to sleep and make him eggs in the morning. he wants to tell him that he’s in this for the long run – that it’s not just a drunken one night stand and that he’ll commit every moment of this to his memory so he never forgets just how desperate yangyang makes him feel.

but words aren’t enough to express his emotions, and kisses seem like the next best thing, so he licks into his mouth, tastes the flavorless chapstick and the essence of yangyang on his tongue, and pushes him down onto his thigh instead.

the kiss is messy and guideless, and neither are trying to make it pretty because that’s not what it’s for in the first place. yangyang’s lips are parted and dejun’s licking over the back of his teeth and the top of his tongue and the inside of his cheek as a distraction from the friction of his cock rubbing into dejun’s pants through the cotton of his underwear. he can almost hear the squelch of the precome, but it’s muted by the pants and gasps tearing from yangyang’s throat that dejun wishes he could swallow. he wants to reach down and rub yangyang’s cock himself – spit into his palm and jerk him to completion like he does to himself whenever he thinks of the younger in his bed. but he doesn’t – his hands stay exploring yangyang’s body, dipping under the waistband of his boxers to teasingly grip at the flesh there, then back up over his waist and to the front of his chest, then digging into his hair as his tongue works its magic. yangyang’s so pliant for him – letting go entirely, letting dejun manhandle him, his only efforts being weak thrusts into dejun’s leg, slowly picking up speed once it clicks that those motions bring him most pleasure.

“’m close, jun,” yangyang speaks again, and dejun swears he can hear his voice echo against his skull, head empty of everything else other than the two of them, “please make me come, gege.”

“come on me,” dejun requests, slipping into cantonese but yangyang tenses above him all the same when his palms come down to cup his hipbones again, firm and steady and providing comfort where yangyang craves it, “come on, pretty baby, come for me.”

yangyang whines, burying his head into dejun’s bare chest, pressing an absent kiss there if only to distract himself from the onslaught of pleasure and _feelings_ and dejun can relate very much, but he needs yangyang to come apart entirely for him, so he leads his hips with his hands, moves yangyang seamlessly along his thigh, urges him to press his whole weight on his cock trapped between their bodies, the pressure becoming so unbearable that he can’t help but let go.

“you’re so good for me,” dejun continues, babbling, and he isn’t sure if yangyang can even understand him, if he picked up enough cantonese for dirty talk, but it doesn’t stop him from saying, “so pretty like this, ruined because of me, all mine. my yangyang, _mine_.”

yangyang seems to get it. with a breathy moan, one that tears straight out of yangyang’s gut and sounds suspiciously like “ _yours_ ”, his fingers dig deep into dejun’s shoulders and he _comes_ , rutting against dejun wantonly, chasing the high, the pulsing white behind his eyelids as dejun whispers sweet nothings into his neck, pressing consoling kisses, his head spinning, the whole room falling apart around them. dejun takes a second to breathe yangyang’s scent, cologne mixed with sweat, calming him instantly. the fog clouding his vision clears up, and the sight of yangyang in his lap feels like a punch to the stomach.

he’s _wrecked_ – cheekbones flushed a deep scarlet, mouth hanging open, drool pooling at the corners, trying and failing to come back to his senses. dejun recognizes the drop – has been there plenty of times to know yangyang needs to feel cherished, so he noses the underside of his jaw, kisses him there, too, writes comforting circles into his lower back and ignores the sting of his own achingly hard cock when yangyang puts distance between them.

“gege,” yangyang cries, staring at him like he sees dejun clearly for the first time. maybe he does – dejun can’t tell what it is, but something between them shifts, changes shape, “w-what about you?”

dejun shakes his head – while coming would be nice, he’s more concerned about yangyang’s mental state after something so intense, and it’s reassuring that he’s not the only one this affected by the heaviness between them, “i can take care of it later,” he assures, but it’s more likely he won’t – he’ll calm down, get yangyang some water, dig up a clean pair of boxers he keeps somewhere around and forget about it because it doesn’t matter to him, not really. he just wants to see yangyang happy, satisfied.

“guess i won then,” yangyang’s grin is stupid and broad and a little loopy, like he thinks he’s dreaming. dejun resists pinching him, only because the younger probably feels oversensitive as it is. he watches him for a moment, scans over the intricacies of his post orgasm face, lets himself feel pride at the fact _he_ was the cause of it, “though i can’t remember what i was competing about.”

“ruining my life,” dejun answers easily, because that’s what it is – this thing between them is so helplessly _easy_ that he can’t believe he started this night dreading a drunk and needy yangyang.

“’m all sticky,” yangyang rubs at dejun’s thigh, reminding him once again that he’s still very much hard, “you sure you don’t…?”

he trails off, lower lip lost between his teeth and dejun contemplates giving in, but ultimately chooses against it, “next time,” he whispers, like a promise. yangyang nods, and it’s sealed.

“as long as you tell me dirty things in cantonese,” yangyang’s grin is back in its rightful place, rising an embarrassed flush out of dejun – he’s too scared to ask how much of that yangyang understood, and how much he got out of context, but dejun is willing to do anything yangyang requests of him. _anything_ – and while it’s equally as scary as it is thrilling, he’s not opposed to exploring more of it. more of yangyang, more of _this_.

this, being: the two of them, limbs tangled, lazily kissing until yangyang complains his own come is too sticky to put up with anymore, nagging at dejun to put those bulky arms to a good use and carry him to the bathroom. dejun obeys, if only to feel yangyang’s legs wrapped around his middle when he jumps on his back. and when they’re both clean and of saner mind, they fall into dejun’s bed together, and yangyang faces him in the dark, his face outlined by the faint moonlight seeping through the window.

“are you my boyfriend now?” he asks, almost too quiet to hear, and dejun sees the new, shy side of him swim at the surface of his curious expression. it’s cute. automatically, he reaches out to brush his knuckles over yangyang’s cheekbones, affectionate, “boyfriends make each other come, right?”

“boyfriends do a lot of things,” dejun muses, thinking back to all the times he’s taken care of yangyang and vice versa, all the times they’ve fallen asleep just like this and how many of those times he craved for a different kind of intimacy.

“like get hangover breakfast together and have sex in the shower?”

he chuckles at the way yangyang’s voice breaks into a higher, expectant pitch, like he’s testing him to say no. like dejun ever could. he’s been incapable of saying no to yangyang since the day he met him.

“i guess we’ll have to find out in the morning,” he concludes, hopes the finality in his tone translates into the words he speaks, and yangyang is pacified for a moment, before he curls up into dejun’s side and tugs the older’s arm around his abdomen, protective. secure.

“night, gege,” he whispers into dejun’s chest, slowly drifting away, “i mean, boyfie.”

his heart booms with love – it can’t be anything else, he’s allowed himself to admit it – love and disbelief that this isn’t some cruel fever dream, that yangyang is actually asleep in his arms, wrapped up around him under the blanket, clinging to him like a koala. it’s… nice. it feels right. their bodies fit like puzzle pieces, they always have, but _finally_ , that puzzle begins to form a concrete picture. the two of them, developing a future together.

he’s eager to find out everything that future will bring.

with his lips pressed against yangyang’s forehead, his hand absently traces the bumps of his boyfriend’s spine until he can feel the sleep overwhelming him, too.


End file.
